John concluded his examination by flashing a light into Jim's eyes, watching carefully to make sure that the pupils behaved as they should. Jim wrinkled his nose in displeasure but otherwise remained still and quiet. In fact, he had been eerily impassive through the entire process, only speaking when John asked him a question and even then giving terse answers which directly and succinctly answered John's queries. Considering how he had chattered endlessly during John's abduction and the subsequent encounter at the pool, this sudden change in behavior was quite unnerving to John.

"So," John said while dragging a chair up next to Jim's bedside. "Anything in particular on your mind?"

Jim looked over at John with the sort of incredulous expression which questioned his intelligence. "Far more than you could fathom," he stated coolly.

"Alright. That's not exactly what I meant."

"Then be more specific, dear."

John rolled his eyes but pushed forward with the frustrating determination of a soldier. "What I meant was, is there anything you would like to talk about, you know, concerning the attack?"

Jim cocked his head to the side, his eyes sweeping over John as he quickly analyzed the intent of his question. His eyebrows drew inward and his gaze narrowed in mistrust as he slowly drew out, "No."

John merely leaned farther back in his chair and watched as Jim wriggled beneath his gaze. He had dealt with Sherlock's darker moods before; he could certainly do the same with Jim. The man seemed to have a weakness which Sherlock did not possess, and that was an inordinate loathing of any sort of inactivity. While Sherlock could sulk on the sofa and stew for hours in his boredom, Jim's impatience always got the better of him, and John was counting on this attribute to force Jim to become more cooperative. Already, Jim was twisting on the bed, his eyes flickering over the room as he sought a distraction.

"Are you sure there's nothing you'd like to talk about?"

Jim's mouth twisted into a puckered scowl, but John could see the resistance slowly melting out of him. "Fine. I'll answer a question for every question of mine you answer."

"Fair enough. But I have the right to pass up your question for another one if I don't want to answer it."

"That's not fair!" Jim interjected. "I should be able to pass, too."

John rolled his eyes, but relented. "Okay. You can pass, too. I get to ask the first question, though."

"Shoot."

"How are you feeling? Honestly, now."

Jim gave a slight scoff but responded anyway. "My head hurts, and I want nothing more than to take a scalding hot bath." He paused, his gaze shifting up to the ceiling as he considered further. "I suppose I'm rather miffed that you're the one I'm having this conversation with."

"Well, you certainly weren't going to have it with Sebastian. Considering that he's the only person I've ever seen you even interact with, I'm assuming that you wouldn't get the chance to have this conversation otherwise."

"Seb," Jim shook his head, a small grin playing at his mouth, "is absolute rubbish at anything which requires high cognitive processes." Despite the blatant insult, Jim looked to be more fond of Sebastian than he would let on.

"Fair enough. I'm sure that Sherlock thinks that of me at times. Anyway, you can ask whatever question you have now."

"Why did you bother?"

"Funny, Sherlock asked essentially the same thing. I honestly don't know, Jim. I suppose that I didn't really think it through that much. If I had any sense, I would have left you in that waiting room for someone else to deal with. Probably you would have been too far gone to have any chances of getting better once they got around to trying to patch you up. I suppose it was selfish in a way, too. I don't think I could sleep easily knowing that I had left a man dead or severely handicapped."

"You killed Jeff."

John winced at the sound of the name. He didn't mind so much when Sherlock brought it up, because Sherlock always referred to him as "the cabbie" or "the pill bottle murderer." Somehow, hearing the man's name made it real. Made John realize that it was a man with a family he had killed. And yes, the irony of his name being Jeff Hope didn't pass unnoticed.

"I try to forget that, actually. And it was necessary."

"So you don't think that killing me is necessary?" Jim had his head tilted to the side once again. He was staring at John as if he were a rather interesting specimen at the bottom of a petri dish.

"Hey, no fair. That's two questions. You have to answer one of mine first."

Jim snorted but waved his hand to tell John to go ahead and ask away.

"When was the last time you attempted suicide?"

"It depends. Seb says that the pool was an attempt, but I say it was more like a slight oversight regarding the well being of my person. So if you're going by his book, then it's eleven months, twelve days."

John frowned. For some reason, he had never taken time to consider whether or not Jim had made it out of the pool safely. Sure, he had wondered how he had gotten away without the police or emergency response teams catching him, but he had never thought that Jim had likely been as injured as he and Sherlock had been. Possibly more so, considering how close he had been to the explosives.

"My turn!" Jim sing-songed. "Why don't you think that it's necessary to kill me?"

"Because you're not a direct threat at the moment. It would be the same as trying to disarm a bomb that hasn't even been activated yet. What's the point in wasting your time and possibly causing the bomb to go off while you're fiddling around with it unnecessarily?"

Jim grinned broadly at that. "So I'm a bomb, now?"

"I could think of a lot of words to describe you, but, yes, essentially you're a bomb."

"I like that."

"Figures. Okay, then. Why did you panic when Sebastian gave you the chocolate milk?"

Jim's grin promptly faded. He scowled down at his hands, looking as if he were seriously contemplating using a pass. The silence stretched to nearly painful bounds as he continued to debate with himself. Finally, he looked up with an expression of cold indifference, and he began talking in a steady monotone.

"My mother took offense to some of my more...eccentric behaviors in my late adolescence. Since I refused to take the latest round of medications she had procured for me, she found alternative methods of getting them into my bloodstream. Essentially, one morning I was eating my breakfast and preparing to go to school when I suddenly woke up and three days had passed without my knowing. She continued to drug my food and force-feed it to me, oftentimes in the form of chocolate milk."

There was no hesitance after Jim answered the question. Like a light switch, his face quickly became animated and alive once again, grinning broadly as he asked his next question. "So, are you and Sherlock shagging?"

"What?" John blinked. Of all the queries he had expected, that one was pretty far down on the list. "No, of course not. We're just flatmates."

"Mm," Jim frowned. "That's disappointing. I was really hoping that you two were having secret affairs behind closed doors. It would make sense, considering your reputation."

"Well, we're not. And half those rumors are stupid jokes from my military days." How Jim had even heard any of those rumors was beyond John, but he supposed that he probably didn't want to know. Best to leave these things unasked.

"Alright, then. What's your real voice sound like?"

Jim opened his mouth to respond, but then he slowly closed it. He frowned, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly as he tried to sort it out. "You know, I think I've rather forgotten. It certainly still has the Irish accent, though. Anyway, why is that important?"

"I don't know. Why is it important if Sherlock and I are shagging or not?"

"I could think of a variety of reasons, but I don't think you'd much like them."

"Let me guess, they all involve me being abducted again."

Jim smirked ever so slightly. "Essentially, yes. You'll be happy to know, though, that of all the people I've kidnapped, you were my favorite. I would consider kidnapping you again, if only to have the same fun we did that night at the pool."

"How charming. I'm very flattered." John rolled his eyes, but couldn't help feeling a vague sense of unease. Jim really hadn't done anything in the hours he had held John hostage. In fact, the utter lack of any sort of torture or threats had been the most unnerving to John. It had allowed his imagination to run wild, and in matters of violence, John had a very vivid and creative imagination. It had been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life, even if he wouldn't admit it to anyone else, especially not Sherlock.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not actually going to abduct you. At least, not for a bit. I figure it's the least I could do, all things considered."

"Thanks...I guess."

"Speaking of thanks," Jim's expression turned business-like, "what do you want?"

"Excuse me?"

"What do you want? To, you know, pay you back for all this." Jim vaguely waved his hand at the hospital room to indicate his meaning.

"Oh," John frowned, but then shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jim, but I'm not going to ask for your gratitude. If you're really thankful, you'll find your own way of showing it."

Jim did not look happy about this. In fact, he looked downright sulky. "I'm not going to be indebted to you."

"I never said you were."

"Good. Because I'm not. I never asked for your help."

"Right."

"What right do you have, anyway, running around willy-nilly being a good Samaritan and forcing people to be grateful to you?"

"None at all. It's bloody awful of me," John stated mildly.

"I'm glad that you agree," Jim responded. John couldn't decide if he was being sarcastic or intentionally obtuse, but either way it was rather funny to watch him struggle through whatever internal conflict he had inflicted upon himself.

"Well, if that's all you want to ask then, I guess I can write you up a clean bill of health. Well, mostly clean. You'll still have to be on a couple of medications, but Sebastian already has all the information about those. It's probably best for you to stay in bed for a couple of weeks, too. No running around the city terrorizing the innocents, okay?"

Pouting just a bit, Jim nodded. Of course John knew that Jim could probably create more havoc from his bed than the average man could make by stepping into a crowded train stain with a semi-automatic, but it couldn't hurt to hope that Jim's confinement would at least slow his activities a little.

A light knocking came from the door, then, and John stepped over to pull it open. Sebastian was standing there, his arms laden with multiple bags of food. Jim's appetite had been off lately, and as such Sebastian kept having to supply him with a wide range of foods in hopes that something would look appealing. The upshot of this was that he and John got whatever food Jim turned down, and hence John hadn't had to buy a meal for either himself or Sherlock since Jim had woken up. At first, Sherlock had grumbled about getting Jim's rejected foods, but his complaining had stopped once he realized that Jim was turning down meals ordered from five star restaurants. Sherlock may be stubborn, but he wasn't a fool.

"Okay, Jim, I've brought you all your favorites from every restaurant in a thirty kilometer radius of the hospital. Please tell me that some of it looks good?"

"Actually," Jim smiled sweetly up at Sebastian. "I was just thinking that a sandwich and cup of jelly from the cafeteria sounded nice."

Sebastian stared at him disbelievingly, his neck and cheeks flushing red as he struggled to keep his temper in check. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out before forcing a smile directed at Jim.

"Yeah, sure. That's not a problem. Let me just go grab that for you then." He squared his shoulders and made to walk out the door.

Jim called after him, "The red jelly, please, Seb!" He simply grinned as Sebastian slammed the door and stalked off down the hallway. He then began rummaging through the bags before finally settling on some pasta. He dove into the dish eagerly, spinning the noodles around his fork and smiling contendedly as he ate.

"That wasn't very nice." Admittedly, Jim's treatment of Sebastian wasn't very surprising to John, but it was a bit odd to watch such a diminutive man harassing someone that looked like they could snap his neck with one hand.

Jim simply waved his fork carelessly in the air while he finished chewing. He swallowed, then began talking. "No, it was perfectly charitable of me. I happen to know for a fact that Seb hates every restaurant that I like within a thirty kilometer range of the hospital, meaning that he would be unsatisfied with my leftovers. This way, he gets a sandwich and whatever dessert he chooses, while I get my pasta and a cup of jelly. I do like the red jelly an awful lot, you know."

"So you're manipulating him into eating what he likes?"

"Precisely." Jim smiled and plunged his fork into a potato. John simply shook his head, somewhat confused by the complicated dynamics of Jim and Sebastian's relationship. At times, it seemed as if they were as dedicated to one another as a couple that had been married for decades. At others, it seemed as if they were simply exploiting one another ruthlessly for their personal gain.

Sure enough, Sebastian returned to the room shortly thereafter, took one look at Jim happily devouring his pasta, and appeared for a moment as if he was going to chuck the sandwich at the man. Instead, he scowled, dropping it and the cup of jelly on Jim's tray, and settled himself into a chair. His eyes roved over the other bags of food in an attempt to find something to eat before he snatched the sandwich back and tore it open. Jim, meanwhile, had begun working on scooping the jelly out of the cup and sucking it off his spoon. John watched them dancing around one another as they ate; Jim would take a couple of bites from various desserts and then shove them aside. Sebastian would then finish them off or store them for later, all the while plucking the cherries off any of the sweets for Jim so he wouldn't have to eat around them. It was like watching some bizarre event where people performed synchronized eating routines.

"John, darling, are you going to stand there and stare, or do you plan on joining us?"

"Actually, I was just getting ready to head out. Sherlock texted a while back and said that he had a new case he had started on. I figure I could at least make an appearance at the crime scene."

"Send Sherlock my regards, then. Oh, and take this, I don't want it." Jim tossed a couple of bags at John before turning his attention dismissively back on his dinner.

"Right. Um, thanks." John began collecting the few items he had brought with himself, but he left one plastic sack sitting on the corner table. "By the way, Sebastian, I was thinking that today might be a good day to go for a walk. Lovely weather outside."

Sebastian looked up from the third piece of cheesecake Jim had shoved at him. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he looked from Jim to John. "Are you sure? It seems a bit cold outside."

"Yep. It's fine. Just remember to bundle up a bit, yeah?" John nodded his head towards the sack in the corner of the room. Sebastian's eyes flickered over to it as he nodded his understanding.

"Alright, I'd best be off then. Have a good day, Jim. Try not to harass Sebastian too much."

Jim glanced from Sebastian to John with a hint of a questioning expression, but he shook it off and smiled pleasantly back at John. "I'll do that. And don't let our dear Sherlock get himself shot."

As John left the room, Sebastian began packing the rest of the food away. Once that mess was cleaned, he rose and opened the sack that John had left in the corner of the room. On top was a robe and pair of house shoes. Underneath that was a pair of scrubs and the pajamas that Jim had arrived in. Finally, tucked into the bottom of the sack was a small note book. Sebastian flipped it open and began reading. The first page was instructions on how to properly disconnect Jim's IV line, followed by directions on how and when to give him his medications. From there it was all instructions on what to do in case various problems arose. Finally, John had scrawled his phone number with a note saying to call anytime, particularly if Jim's headaches became too severe.

"Alright, Jim. I was thinking we would take a walk if you feel up to it." He turned back to Jim while carrying the clothes that John had left. Jim looked momentarily puzzled, but then he smiled and nodded.

"A walk sounds lovely." He turned and dangled his feet over the edge of the bed. John had allowed him to change into drawstring pants and a t-shirt a few days back, and so all he needed was to pull on the robe and the shoes that John had left. Sebastian, meanwhile, had to strip down and redress in the scrubs. Jim smirked as he pulled on the light blue suit; it was probably the most effeminate outfit he had ever seen the man wear.

Sebastian carefully folded his clothes and tucked them into the sack. He then stepped over to Jim's side and began working on shutting off the IV. He dug around in the nightstand and, as John had promised he would, found some alcohol swabs and bandages. He gently pulled the needle from beneath Jim's skin and quickly wiped away the drip of blood before placing a plaster over the pale hand. Jim watched the whole process intently, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as Sebastian's fingers stroked over the plaster to push it into place. His gaze shifted upwards to blink at Sebastian when he cradled Jim's hand just a moment too long between his own. Noticing Jim's stare, Sebastian cleared his throat and stepped away.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Definitely." Jim slid off the bed and nearly fell to the floor as he stumbled on weak legs. Sebastian caught him before he could fall too far, however, and carefully arranged his grip so that he was bearing much of Jim's weight by placing a hand under his elbow. Jim gave a little grunt of frustration, but he didn't try to shake off Sebastian's hand. Slowly, Sebastian led Jim out the door and into the hallway. He was beginning to wonder if maybe he should grab a wheelchair by the time they made it to the lift; Jim's footsteps were shufflingly slow, and he had to stop to close his eyes when the feeling of vertigo became too overwhelming. Jim seemed to have read Sebastian's thoughts however, and he gave a displeased hiss.

"If you so much as look at a wheelchair, I will puke on your trainers."

Considering that Jim's face had gone that particular kind of pale that seems to preceed any sort of vomiting spell, Sebastian decided that Jim's threat shouldn't be taken as idle. He looked him over carefully before cautiously venturing, "Do you think that maybe we should go back? I can call John and tell him you weren't ready..."

"No. I'm fine. I don't want to be here anymore. Besides, all he'll do for me is tell me to sleep and drink plenty of fluids. I can do that just as easily at home."

"Alright." Nevertheless, Sebastian shifted his grip so that he had one arm twined around Jim's waist and could therefore support even more of his weight. This also allowed Jim to lay his head over on Sebastian's shoulder while they waited for the lift to reach the ground floor. It took all of Sebastian's efforts not to shiver as Jim's breath puffed out and brushed across his neck. It wouldn't do to make Jim think that their position was making Sebastian uncomfortable. Finally, the ding of the elevator announced their arrival at their destination, and Jim and Sebastian disentangled themselves to make their way out the door. As John had predicted, the two didn't garner so much as a second glance from the rest of the staff. They were able to shuffle their way out onto the walkway without interruption, and for that, Sebastian was grateful. He had never been particularly good at smooth-talking, doing so had always been Jim's area of expertise, but he figured it would look rather suspicious if the patient were the one answering all the questions.

Finally, they were far enough away from the hospital that Sebastian was able to hail a cab. Jim was now leaning heavily onto Sebastian's arm, and his head was slumped against Sebastian's shoulder once again. His eyes were closed so that all Sebastian could see was two thick semi-circles of dark eyelashes spread over his cheekbones. Despite the slight frown tugging the corners of his lips downwards, Jim looked more at peace than he had while in the hospital. At least, some of the tension in his jaw had eased. Sebastian gently nudged him when the cab pulled up to the curb, urging him towards the door which he had pulled open for Jim. After Jim had clambered into the vehicle, Sebastian followed and gave the cabbie their address. As the vehicle began to ease into the traffic, Sebastian coaxed Jim into his arms once again. This time, Jim was only content to lean on his shoulder for a few moments before he began writhing uncomfortably. He gave a low whine as he tried nuzzling himself into a more comfortable position, but it didn't seem to do much good. Eventually, Sebastian sighed, gripped Jim by the shoulders, and pushed him down into his lap.

Jim laid tensely still for a few moments, but gradually relaxed until he was curled across the seat with his head pillowed on Sebastian's thighs. He gave a low hum before murmuring, "I'm going to fall asleep on you, darling."

"It's fine." Sebastian's hand fell to rest on Jim's shoulder, just to keep the rocking of the cab from sending him toppling onto the floor, he told himself.

True to his word, Jim's breathing quickly fell into soft, easy rhythms and he didn't so much as twitch a muscle when the cab pulled to a halt. Sebastian paid the driver then looked down at Jim's sleeping form. Carefully, he collected the man into his arms and slid out of the cab, carrying him into the flat and tucking him away in bed. He then went and changed into his own pajamas before returning to Jim's room and laying on the opposite side of the bed as him. He found that he couldn't sleep, however. He just laid and watched Jim's chest rising and falling through the rest of the evening and into the night.